


Discombobulate

by Daelin



Series: Darcy Lewis Crossover Bingo [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Darcy Lewis Crossover Bingo, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daelin/pseuds/Daelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes wasn't sure who had rented out the absent Mister Selvig's flat, but he was quite certain they were the most annoying creatures no the planet. Up at all hours of the day and night, almost never consistent, and almost always unexpectedly loud just when he was at the pinnacle of thought. </p><p>Watson said it was just retribution, and thanked the air heading to the second story every time he left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discombobulate

**Author's Note:**

> DLCB – Day 8 - #29 – Sherlock
> 
> Recommended listening: “Discombobulate” by Hans Zimmer, from the Sherlock Holmes (2009) soundtrack

It was quarter of two in the morning according to the clock on the mantle when a loud flurry of knocks came on the door of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock, awake, paused in his ministrations to the violin and cocked his head to the side, curious, but he made no attempts to go to the door. At the second flurry of knocks, John, clad in a short nightshirt he was hastily tucking into a pair of paints, appeared barefoot in the doorway of his room with a baleful glare for his roommate. Striding across the parlor, he opened the door and discovered an irritated-looking woman, petite of stature and waist, who almost knocked her fist against his ribs as she made to knock again. “Oh,” she said, at the same time that John asked, “May I help you?”

The woman had looked around, though, and was staring daggers at something behind him. Turning from the door frame, he saw the intended target was Sherlock, who was holding his violin and bow and his lap as if they bored him. The stranger plowed past John and marched over to the other man, pointing a sharp finger at him after stopping an arm's length away. “You,” she growled. “Are a menace. And you're going to burn the building down if you insist on that infernal racket you think passes for playing an instrument.”

Sherlock pointed the bow back at the stranger, eyebrows arching upwards. “You are the new tenant residing in what was formerly Mister Selvig's apartment. A woman. How ordinary. I should have figured that only women could make that much racket, Watson. Why didn't I think about women? I thought perhaps we had some crazy scientists, trying to turn iron to gold.”

The woman's brows had gone from furrowed to arched in disbelief, her brown eyes snapping. “Excuse you, I do happen to be a scientist!”

“Does somebody care to explain what is going on here?” John said, loudly.

“Smart person talk. Apparently I'm not the only one living with an idiot. Hello,” a new voice said, from just behind John. A younger woman, just as short but curvier in form, stood in his doorway. She was dressed in a serviceable day-dress, in a dusty blue, but was wearing a canvas apron with what looked to have more than a few scorch marks. “My name is Darcy, Darcy Lewis. This is my Mistress and bosom companion, Jane Foster, ward of Doctor Erik Selvig.” She offered her hand.

(“You could not possibly be a scientist. What do you study?” Sherlock asked, almost but not quite haughty.

“You get that thing out of my face,” was Jane's order in reply, batting aside the violin bow pointed at her.)

A person could instantly be smitten with her wide blue eyes and slightly gap-toothed smile, but it was her frank but polite way of talking that captured John's attention. “Miss Lewis, a pleasure. I am John, Doctor John Watson.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and enjoyed her side-twisted smile as he let go. “I know Doctor Selvig somewhat. He didn't mention his flat being occupied during his sabbatical.”

“Ah, well, if you've met Erik, than you know he's more than sometimes a little scatterbrained. He told us her informed everyone, but he must have thought everyone was the landlady,” Darcy said, with a roll of her shoulders. “I'm happy at least that much was done.”

“I suppose that would make it easier, yes,” John replied, eyes sliding away from her and back towards the ongoing argument.

“It's not in your face, it's in my hand,” Sherlock retorted.

“Jane,” Darcy called out.

Jane yanked the bow out of Sherlock's hand and tossed it to the ground. “All I want is some warning before you warbling down here in the wee hours of the morning. You've set off the calibrations on my telescope and it's going to take me all day tomorrow to fix them!”

Darcy sailed over to Jane, stepping over the bow, and settled her arm around the other woman's waist. “Jane, you call me a scandal to society, and look at you! A woman engaged, in a strange man's flat, not even close to properly dressed. A linen shirt and no corset! In the dark of night, no less! My goodness, whatever shall the neighbors think?” While her delivery was perfectly scolding, there was a teasing to her voice that apparently evaded receiver's ears. Miss Foster's cheeks burned red, and she turned heel and scurried back out the door and up the stairs, her bare feet making little sound on the wood.

“I would apologize for Miss Foster, but I won't, because truly, for as odd hours as she keeps, at least she doesn't play a string instrument at obscene hours,” Darcy said, shooting a contemptuous look at Sherlock. Following the path Jane had just tread, she stopped at John, observed his partially-bare chest as his nightshirt wasn't tied at the collar, and let her eyes slowly drift back up to his. She smiled cheekily. “As for me, this has been a most beneficial evening. Well met, Doctor Watson.” She turned back towards Sherlock. “As for you, Mister Holmes, please keep all scientific questioning to a pen and paper, as I refuse to let you in if you come up. Miss Foster desperately needs some sleep, as Mister Odinson, her fiance, is calling in the morning.”

As she ascended the stairs, he could hear her talking to herself, “Two days' up with nothing but cat-naps, I don't know how she does it...”

In the silence following, Sherlock stood suddenly, making the chair creak. “Well. Well! If she has a telescope that requires such intimate calibrations, inquiries must be made. Unlike some stodgy so-called scientists, the night sky does fascinate me, although I hold no interest to study in overmuch myself.” John stops his friend's forward momentum with a solid hand to the chest, and shuts their front door behind him.

“Bed, Sherlock. And if not bed, the study. For the night. You aren't to bother the ladies, you heard Miss Lewis.”

Sherlock raises a skeptical eyebrow. “She's caught your fancy, hasn't she?”

John levels a look at him. “Sherlock...”

The detective, one hand still clutching the neck of his violin, throws his hands in the air. “Fine! Fine. I'll go propose a list of questions and by morning I'll be able to tell you all about Miss Jane Foster, ward of Doctor Erik Selvig, and how on earth a crazy woman like that became engaged to one of the most powerful old bloodlines in London.”

“Great,” John says without enthusiasm, heading to his room. “I'll be ever so excited to hear about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be BBC Sherlock, all modern day and stuff, but nope. Nope. It refused, I had “Discombobulate” stuck in my head, and this came out.
> 
> Darcy knows who the boys are not just because Erik mentioned them, but because she of course made friends with Mrs. Hudson the landlady, who I am not sure is in the movies but exists in this 'verse. Lol. 
> 
> Please imagine Thor in a Victorian-era suit, complete with cravat and short top hat.   
> You're welcome. xD


End file.
